


The Domestic Life of Phil and Frances Coulson

by KennaM



Category: Dirty Dancing (1987), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack Pairing, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Domestic, Drabble, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KennaM/pseuds/KennaM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil returns home from the office just in time to have breakfast with Frances.</p><p>Crack-pairing fic written for a friend after she discovered that Clark Gregg (<em>Phil Coulson</em>) and Jennifer Grey (<em>'Baby' Houseman</em>) were married, and couldn't stop imagining their characters married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Domestic Life of Phil and Frances Coulson

An unexpected pile of paperwork meant that Agent Phillip Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division had been stuck at Central longer than he would have liked. It was seven in the morning when he finally looked up from his desk and noticed the standard wall clock hanging above the office door. Agent Coulson handed what was left of the pile to his immediate subordinate and excused himself, pulling out a cell phone on his way to the parking structure.

“Hello?” a groggy woman’s voice asked moments after Phil hit the speed dial.

“Frances, it’s me.”

She audibly perked up. “Oh, hey sweety.”

“I’m on my way home, just leaving now. Paperwork took longer than expected. I… I didn’t want you to worry.”

“OK, thanks for letting me know.” The smile could be heard in Frances’ voice.

Phil said nothing as he passed a few other agents in the hall. He entered the stairwell and finally asked, “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

A light laughter came from the other end of the line. “No, I was just about to start my shower.”

“Good,” he said with a relieved sigh. “Well, I’m leaving now so I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Wait,” Frances stopped her husband before he could hang up. “Do you have the day off? Will you be staying? I have a meeting with the board and a class this evening, but I can reschedule and call a substitute if you’re off work.”

Phil hesitated before answering. “No, I don’t have the day off, and I wont be staying very long. We’ll talk more when I get there.”

The drive from S.H.I.E.L.D. Central to the house took just a bit over a half hour, and the sun was well established in the Eastern sky by the time Agent Coulson pulled into the driveway and killed the car engine. Locking the car behind him, Phil pulled a single key out from his inner jacket pocket, turning it swiftly in the house door lock before pressing his thumb to the disguised security panel on the side.

Phil closed the door behind him and set the key on the front table, nudging it minutely so it lined up with the edge. Frances appeared from the next room.

“Phil,” she said with a bright smile, crossing the room to wrap him in a hug.

“Fran,” he replied, pecking her on the lips the way she’d trained him to whenever he came home from work.

“How long are you staying?” Frances asked, taking his jacket as he shrugged it off. “They don’t want you back at the office right away, do they?”

“No, not quite.” Frances hung the jacket on the coat rack, and Phil followed her into the next room, a double kitchen and dining room. “They’re sending me to Malibu.”

“Malibu? What’s in Malibu to interest… your division?”

“The home of Stark Industries, apparently.” Frances had opened the refrigerator to find something, and now looked back at her husband in surprise, beginning to speak before stopping herself. She shook her head.

“I’m not supposed to ask,” Frances said, a statement instead of a question. She pulled out a package of eggs. “You can stay for breakfast at least, right?”

“Of course,” Phil nodded, taking the eggs from his wife to help. “I have the entire morning off.”

“Is ‘eggs and bacon’ alright?”

Phil said nothing.

Frances pulled out the bacon anyways, setting it on the counter beside the eggs and reaching for a frying pan. She raised her eyebrows at him when she noticed he hadn’t answered.

“How were you thinking of cooking them?” Phil finally asked.

“Just scrambled.” She gave him a searching look. “Why, is that OK?”

He nodded, but said “I can cook my own,” and moved to grab another frying pan.

Frances sighed and stopped him with one hand. “Phil, I’ll make whatever you want.”

“No, it’s alright.”

“Phil. You look like you haven’t slept in… well, to be honest, you look well rested, you always do - but I know you, Phil. You haven’t slept in two days. I want you to sit down there, close your eyes, and just let me make something for you for breakfast.”

The agent sat down obediently at the dining table.

“Now, what do you want, before you head out to Malibu?”

“…Eggs Benedict, if that’s alright.”

“Really? I mean, sure, but it’ll take some time. They’re much easier scrambled.”

Phil stood up again quickly. “I’ll do my own - you don’t need to cook for me.”

“Phil-“

“Fran, it’s fine, I’m fine.” He joined her at the stove, pulling a pan off the wall and setting it besides Frances’ on the stove top before she could stop him. “I’m away from home often enough as it is, I might as well cook while I can, before I forget how to.”

Frances suppressed a laugh, but only barely, and nodded. “Alright, tough guy, as you like.” She handed him an egg from the carton and cracked two of her own into her pan. “So what time are you heading out?” she asked, putting an English Muffin in the toaster for him.

Phil cracked his egg into the poacher. “The plane’s leaving from Central at noon.”

“Well then,” Frances said, mixing the cooking eggs in her pan, “we’ve got a lot to catch up on, and not much time to do so.” She gave her husband a sly smile.

Phil returned it warmly.


End file.
